Circumspect
by librophile
Summary: Throughout Holmes and Watson's shared career, they discovered many things through careful judgment. The most important was that there could, indeed, be such a thing as a friend. Drabble series, companion to "Fortnight."
1. Persona

_So... Clear back in April I promised a follow-up drabble series to "Fortnight," which never appeared. I did have it written priorly, and recently rediscovered it. This is that (somewhat belated) follow-up._

* * *

**Written: 10-13-12**

**Persona**

The most difficult disguise of my occupation – and indeed it was a disguise, for however much I wished I fit the character I had yet to replicate it – came in the year of 1894, early spring. I had but recently returned to my old abode, and having convinced my old flat-mate to stay the night I found myself once again – and even I had doubted this moment would come – in my bedchamber.

The morning would present one of the most difficult of tasks, a role I had never anticipated the need to play. I knew Watson would see through it as he was wont to do, but it was not for his benefit I donned the mask the following morning, brushed off a coat left closet-bound for three years and stepped out my door, where Watson was already waiting. "Are you ready, Holmes?" he asked, and as of old I could tell there was another undertone to his question.

I looked down at the costume, examining it minutely, then raised my gaze and nodded, managing a small smile. "Ready."

The two of us fetched our canes and then, stepping into the street, I slipped into the role of myself.


	2. Friend

**Written: 10-13-12**

**Friend**

When Sherlock Holmes had first arrived on the scene, most of the Law scoffed at him. Who was he to think he could solve a case _they_, with all their time and resources, could not? His natural arrogance didn't help matters, making them rather irritated with his presence and rather disinclined to listen.

With time, they realized Holmes was usually correct and bestowed their reluctant respect on the amateur – though they would never tell him, surely, and any of his surmises would be met with disbelief until further proven. The man worked alone – arrogance again, was their conjecture. A man of Holmes's brilliance and impatience simply could not stand another man at his heels.

It was only when the veteran doctor appeared on the scene that they changed their thoughts. Watson was constantly at his side, uncomplaining, soon affixed there with a blatant camaraderie they had thought the detective incapable of harboring. Soon too they noticed the determined loyalty, not unreturned in the least, subtly inflected in their every move.

Judgments, at long last, were rendered false. They had let their opinions get in the way, judging the man as they would and not bothering to look for the truth. And now, now that they had let barriers of contempt bar the way, they realized what they had lost.

None of them had realized that in this cynical, caustic young genius were the makings of an unwavering friend.


	3. Passing

_This one's from Mycroft's point of view._

* * *

**Written: 10-19-12**

**Passing**

He did not recognize me – we had only met once before, and that passing. But I remembered him, as he no doubt remembered me with his own unique brand of intelligence. It took a special sort of person to make the conscious decision to look _beyond_ another's eccentricities and into their real character, regardless of what they may appear. Watson exercised that extraordinary brand of courage to befriend my long-friendless brother.

And so it was that I agreed without hesitation when Sherlock asked me to help him spirit his friend from London. I owed the good doctor that, at least.


	4. Word

**Written: 10-19-12**

**Word**

Mycroft sat back heavily in his seat, staring at the telegram he held in his hand and futilely willing the words to change. They stood out in stark black upon the paper, as if they might spring upon him at any moment.

_ Sherlock is dead._

Telegrams were renowned for their lack of emotion, but the paper in his hands seemed to shake of its own accord – or was that his hands shaking? Unheard of for a Holmes – but again, few really knew the family.

Doctor Watson was on his way back. Mycroft would be at the station to meet him.


	5. Intent

_AN: Contains minor spoilers for 'Empty House'._

* * *

**Written: 10-20-12**

**Intent**

I nearly choked on the sentence, my intended words strangling to a disbelieving halt before replacing them with other words, informing him I feared for my own safety and then thoughtlessly adding my confidence in Mycroft. He didn't question, though I could see the muted pain in his eyes before it was veiled in the enthusiasm of another question. Moments before my friend had lain prone on the floor, and my guilt was not assuaged by his apparent hunger for details.

I continued speaking, ruthlessly flattening my traitorous thoughts.

_ I feared you would be endangered by knowledge of my whereabouts._


	6. Live

_Summary: Even the most trusted didn't know at once... Minor spoilers for "The Final Problem."_

* * *

**Written: 10-20-12**

**Live**

It was the second time in ten days that Mycroft Holmes had found himself of inhibited movement by no will of his own. It was also the second time the responsible party was naught but a slip of inanimate paper, staring up at him from where it had fallen to the floor from senseless fingers.

The news, for all its stunning clarity, should have been expected. He was a Holmes – but, no matter how much their family wished otherwise, they were not omniscient.

Though this message certainly seemed to bear out the opposite theory.

_Am alive. Tell no one. Sherlock._


	7. Rapier

_Most of my stories so far have been on a more somber note. Here's a 221B that's a bit more cheering._

* * *

**Written: 10-24-12**

**Rapier**

Crashes and good-natured shouts may not have been the normal atmosphere of 221B Baker Street, but it certainly wasn't too unexpected. Neither were repeated clashes of metal, though a laugh startled both visitors. Since when did Holmes laugh, as that could hardly be any other?

Disregarding the noise, but with wary looks darted upward, Lestrade and his companion scaled the stairs.

Just in time to be brought up short in shock as a rapier came hurtling through the half-open study door and buried itself four inches into the wood within feet of Lestrade's face.

A shout of laughter and a good-natured retort followed this extraordinary display, followed by the door swinging open to admit Holmes, who strode out, nodded to both of them and, without bothering with further acknowledgement, wrenched the weapon free before turning to face them. "Evening, Lestrade," he greeted. "If you wish my presence we had best make all haste, or else I shall be otherwise engaged for the evening."

Lestrade gulped and nodded, looking on warily as Watson exited the study looking none the worse for wear and rather amused. Watson took the blade from Holmes (resulting in a clang as it met its twin's hilt), set both down, and commented, "Then shall we?"

The door swung closed; Lestrade wisely refrained from questioning what wreckage lay beyond.


End file.
